


Fight fire with fire

by Builder



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Avocados at Law, Christmas, Colds, Fever, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-23
Updated: 2018-06-23
Packaged: 2019-05-27 03:44:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15015935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Builder/pseuds/Builder
Summary: Matt's cold nearly gets him burned.





	Fight fire with fire

**Author's Note:**

> This was a prompt from tumblr. Find me @builder051

 

Matt finishes blowing his nose and lobs the used tissue in the direction of the trash can.  He doesn’t hear the crinkle of the trash bag indicating he’s made his mark.  Either his Kleenex basketball skills are suffering, or he’s more congested than he thought. 

 

“You ready?” Foggy says from the direction of the doorway.  He sounds far away, though Matt knows the distance from his office door to his desk measures a perfect ten and a half feet. 

 

Matt swipes his sleeve under his nose and draws in a deep breath.  Foggy’s dressed for the weather.  Matt picks up the telltale odors of leather gloves and the coat with the soy sauce stain on the lapel, but the rest is a mystery.  It’s feasible that Foggy sounds muffled because he’s wearing a scarf.  That would be preferable to admitting this cold really is getting the better of him. 

 

“Yeah,” Matt says.  He grabs his coat from the back of his chair and pulls it on, testing himself as scents float up from the folds of fabric.  Coffee.  Sweat.  Dry cleaning chemicals.  Maybe some printer ink?  It’s disconcerting that he’s not sure. 

 

Matt picks up his cane and follows Foggy out of the office.  “I know you think I’m being such a little kid, but I’m stoked about this,” Foggy says, excitement plain in his voice. 

 

“I never said that.”  Matt stops as Foggy’s hand brushes the sleeve of his jacket, and he hears him punch the button for the crosswalk.  “I just don’t know if it’s the best thing to spend petty cash on.”

 

“We are a family and the office is our home, Matthew,” Foggy pronounces.  The light changes, and he starts across the street. 

 

Matt hovers the tip of his cane over the pavement, and he’s surprised when it actually hits the curb.  He’s grateful that Foggy’s still talking so he has something to latch onto and stave off the swooping feeling of disorientation. 

 

“Plus, I thought Catholics were all about Christmas.”

 

“Huh?”  Matt’s missed the lead-up.

 

“If anyone is gonna be wild about having a Christmas tree, I thought it would be you,” Foggy says.

 

“Christmas trees are pagan,” Matt supplies.  It comes out more dour than he means it to, but a drip is shivering at the end of his nose again.  The amount of willpower it takes not to snuff it up is surprisingly large.

 

“All the better.  Let’s be rebels.”  Foggy laughs.  His arm swishes against the body of his coat as he points down the block.  “There they are.  The Boy Scouts of America and their urban forest.”

 

Matt juts out his chin and breathes in deeply.  He can smell it now.  And taste it.  The perfume of crushed pine needles carries through the frigid air, mixing with cinnamon and apple cider.  Liquor from the bar they just passed and garbage from the alley behind it lessen the charming effect, but Matt’s just relieved he can smell anything. 

 

He and Foggy approach the empty lot-turned-tree farm.  A squeaky-voiced teenager turns his phone off with a click and asks how he can help them.  Foggy starts describing their office space with free use of the terms  _epic_  and  _radical_.  Matt cringes a little and follows a few paces behind. 

 

A shiver runs down his spine, and he’s about to admit to himself that he doesn’t feel well when a gust of warm air comes from nowhere and stops him in his tracks.  Matt breathes in deeply and swallows a globule of snot.  He detects a subtle change in the woodsy scent, plus notes of smoke and metal.  He turns slowly, his cane extended a couple feet in front of him, until the warmth hits him full in the face. 

 

It feels wonderful.  Tension Matt wasn’t aware he was holding drops from his shoulders, and he instinctively stretches out his hands.  Cold stiffness disappears from his knuckles.  Matt shuffles a half step closer to the burn barrel, but a hand comes down on his shoulder and makes him jump.

 

“That is fire.  Fire is hot.”  Foggy’s tone makes it clear Matt ought to know better.  He edges backward until Foggy breathes out, and Matt assumes he’s now at a safe distance. 

 

“I found a really good one,” Foggy says.  “You want to give it the stamp of approval?  It’s not too tall, not too short.  Smells really nice.”

 

“I trust you.”

 

“I figured you would.”  Foggy stays silent for a moment, and Matt knows he’s staring him down in the firelight.  “What’s going on with you?”

 

“Nothing,” Matt answers automatically.  “I’m good.  It’s cold out tonight, huh?”

 

“Yeah,” Foggy says.  “Sure is.  I just saw you get about two inches from sticking your hands into an open flame.”  The air between them vibrates with the thudding of Foggy’s heartbeat.  Guilt and swallowed mucous go sour in Matt’s stomach.

 

“Wasn’t paying attention, I guess,” Matt says.  “I’m a little, uh, distracted.  Might have a bit of a cold…”  He trails off, not sure why he’s so embarrassed.

 

Foggy yanks his glove off and reaches for Matt’s forehead, but there’s enough warning for Matt to block him with his forearm. 

 

“Hey, don’t go all ninja on me,” Foggy complains.  “I was just gonna see if you have a fever.”

 

Matt’s pretty sure he does, though the rising heat from the burning cedar in front of them will skew any tactile temperature readings.  “I’m fine,” Matt says, though he probably just sounds defensive now. 

 

“I think I’m gonna be the judge of that for a little while,” Foggy declares.  He puts his glove back on and reaches for Matt’s elbow.  “Come on.  I think decorating this tree’ll be a safer activity for you.”

 

 


End file.
